


Glow

by Angryangryowl



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Shameless Smut, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/pseuds/Angryangryowl
Summary: Dinner to celebrate the new mayor of Gotham and his loyal cheif of staff leads to drinks in front of the fire, and really, it's a lot of trouble to make up a guest bed just for one night...





	Glow

The first night that Edward spends at the Van Dahl mansion is both the most unexpected and most natural thing in the world. Were Oswald to explain it to anyone (which he won’t, he thinks slyly to himself, a gentleman never tells), he wouldn’t believe his own words.

After his first full week as mayor of Gotham, complete with all the challenges that brought (not least ensuring everyone was sufficiently bribed or afraid), he’d suggested a celebratory dinner to his new chief of staff. Maybe at one of the newer, fancier restaurants down by the river.

Edward’s usual wide grin dropped a little at that.

‘Of course, we don’t have to. I’d understand if you had commitments! You have definitely seen enough of me this week!’ He cries, quickly covering up the sinking feeling in his stomach that Edward was bound to refuse.

‘Oh, it’s not that. But arranging security, and the potential for interruptions from your adoring public are..’

Interruptions. Interesting. The disdain Edward seems to have for anything that interrupts their time together is something worth examining. Either the man is incredibly dedicated to his job, or Oswald’s affections are more mutual than he first thought.

Oswald shrugs, a little easier now ‘I suppose I’m never off-duty now. Fine. Dinner at home, maybe?’

‘Eight? I’ll bring wine?’ 

The hopeful way Edward looks at him, a glance over the top of his thick-framed glasses, which he manages despite being several inches taller, makes his stomach clench deliciously as he turns to leave

‘I’ll see you then…’

***

At a few minutes to eight, Ed arrives. 

Oswald answers the door personally, forgetting his striped apron until Ed eyes it with a raised eyebrow. 

‘Please forgive me! I’m a little forgetful when I cook!’

‘You cooked? Well, don’t I feel special.’ There’s that smile again, sly and crinkling the corners of his dark eyes. He's forgone his usual suit in favour of an emerald green jumper, still impeccably neat with a crisp white shirt and navy blue necktie.

'Olga is upstate, visiting her sister and I thought-’ He is almost definitely staring. He has several staff that could have cooked, he could have hired someone, and yet.

Ed looks somehow taller, handsome, in his evening coat, a bottle wrapped in tissue paper tucked under one elbow, and the fact that Oswald is about to have dinner with this man, whom he has eaten with, drank with before, well. That little fact somehow makes him inexplicably nervous.

Feeling his cheeks start to pinken, he cuts himself off 'Anyway, come in! Dinner won't be a few minutes, make yourself at home!

He feels suddenly very aware of the click of his cane on the floorboards as he makes his way back to the kitchen, leaving Ed to settle himself in the living room. What he wouldn't really notice alone is suddenly amplified,making him self conscious. His cheeks are already flaring hot with embarrassment. With a long sigh he rests his forehead against the cool tiles of the kitchen wall. Stupid really. Ed was surely still mourning his beloved Miss Kringle. Even if he wasn't, then why would he be interested in a stuttering fool like him?

Another part of his subconscious picks this fortunate moment to remind him that Ed is currently in his living room, waiting to have dinner with him. Whatever that means, maybe the outlook isn't all that bleak.

Dinner is simple, for Oswald at least. Sacrificing the lavish spread Olga would have prepared for a little more privacy seems worth it. Chicken, crisp and fragrant with garlic, scalloped potatoes, green beans.

Ed eats almost delicately, small mouthfuls, sips of wine, but mostly he talks. It seems after the first glass that he can't stop.

And you remember that first time we went to dinner together, the Italian place? Remember that time we met in the woods, that time you slept in my bed, when you were too sick and too sad to move, when we first met, how wide your eyes were, when you asked me to work for you, when we achieved all this together…

Maybe he doesn't say all of that. Some of it though, enough.

And Oswald watches him. Giggles at the unfortunate moments, marvels that both of them are still alive. Watches him talk, the way those big hands and long, elegant fingers gesture, that too-wide grin that he manages to make endearing, and that sweet mouth, the little flick of tongue removing a stray drop of sauce. Until he realises that he is resting his chin in his palm, dinner long-finished, gazing at Ed who has finished talking, and has quirked an eyebrow inviting some sort of response to what he just said.

‘I’m sorry, i just, it’s warm in here, the wine-’ Oswald stutters.

Ed tilts his head a little, questioning but not about to interrogate him. ‘I only suggested,’ he says, leaning in as though sharing something secret, although they are the only ones in the house, ‘A toast. To Gotham’s new mayor. Long live the king.’ 

Ed’s wink as he raises his glass stops Oswald thinking about anything else for a moment, sparks something hot and glowing in his belly that is far more than just the wine.

‘And his Chief of Staff, surely. I don’t think I could rule without you.’ He smiles, clinking his glass against Ed’s before taking a sip. 

Ed opens his mouth as though considering arguing, but smiles warmly, taking a mouthful of wine.’To us.’

***

There is more wine, sipped on the sofa in front of the dying fire. There are riddles, a couple of which Oswald even gets, blushing when Ed applauds him after a particularly fiendish one.

Ed’s jumper and tie find themselves slung over the arm of the chair when he's too warm with fire and wine and tipsy, giggling, good-feeling. 

Oswald tries not to stare when Ed rolls his sleeves, and pops open the top couple of buttons of his shirt collar, grinning as though he has done something vaguely ill-mannered and scandalous.

‘I hope you’ll excuse me..’ he mumbles, holding Oswald's gaze.

It’s too late, and Ed is far too tipsy to drive. Both seem to conveniently forget the idea of a taxi.

‘I’ll uh..make up a guest room. Stay here tonight.’ Oswald murmurs, leaning a little too close, gesturing vaguely to upstairs, and bed.

‘Are you sure? That seems like a lot of effort, Really, I’d be happy on the couch with a spare blanket.’ Ed is still holding his gaze, eyes heavy-lidded and dark behind his glasses, and there's a distinct lack of conviction when he suggests sleeping on the couch.

‘Not in my house’’ Says Oswald, proudly and a little too insistently, before wilting a little at the thought of dragging sheets and fresh linens from the laundry room, making up the bed, finding towels and pyjamas and-

‘If it’s not too much of an imposition’ Ed interrupts his thoughts ‘I could stay with you. I’m sure that two grown men can share a bed.’

‘Well, of course! I..’ He stops himself, cringing at his own enthusiasm. He banishes the thought of another warm body, Ed’s long skinny form, curled next to him, curled around him, from his mind. That and the look in Ed's eyes, which he is probably imagining.

He clears his throat, bringing both of their attention back to the present. ‘If that would be acceptable, thank you for saving my legs. I can fetch you some clean pyjamas, at least.’

He gets to his feet, stumbling before he can rest his weight on his cane, head pleasantly hazy, honey-thick with wine and fireside warmth, grinning when Ed reaches to steady him.

'You're alright?’ he asks, hands on Oswald's elbows, suddenly close again, concern melting into a giggle when Oswald smiles.

'I think..I think..’ Oswald sniggers again before he can finish that thought.

'Perhaps some sleep might be best…’

Oswald probably doesn't need to lean on Ed as heavily as he does as they make their way up the stairs, but he is steady and only too quick to offer his elbow, and the rest of his arm. He smiles, lopsided, to himself at the slight, solid muscle under the soft wool of his jumper, the way his arm doesn't waver or shake. 

'You're a little taller than my father was’ he remarks, steadying himself at the top of the stairs 'but I have no doubt I can find pyjamas to fit you. Wouldn't do to just be sleeping in your underwear!’ he laughs, a little too high, and tries not to let his eyes widen at that thought.

'No, no, of course not..’ Ed agrees vaguely, following him into his bedroom.

It's ornate, as it was when he inherited the mansion. Some things had been perhaps a little too ornate. Satin sheets had since replaced with cotton (with the exception of silk pillowcases), bed curtains drawn back for a better view of the room. Still the same heavy purple damask as the drapes and wallpaper.

Ed changes in the small bathroom off the bedroom, and having slowly taken his own clothes off, throwing them into a laundry basket with a grunt of irritation, Oswald slowly buttons his pyjamas, sitting on the edge of the bed. Charcoal grey, tasteful, he thinks, although why this matters he isn't entirely sure.

He hears the water running, elderly pipes creaking, and the thought comes to him that the only person he's been this close to is his mother. Close enough for the everyday minutiae that humans just seem to do, unnoticed, brushing their teeth, washing their face, and yes, sharing his bed. And while his feelings for Ed have no place here, that doesn't stop his heart from fluttering, expectant, against his ribs as he shuffles to the bathroom along the hall.

He stares at his reflection, peeking over to top of the towel into the ornate mirror as he dries his face. His eyes look smaller without eyeliner, pink-rimmed with alcohol and exhaustion. His freckles bloom defiant across his cheekbones. His dark hair is fluffy and willful with all traces of product brushed from it. He sighs dramatically at the face in the mirror, swiping toothpaste from his bottom lip. Usually he's good at mimicking confidence, walking into every room like he owns it (Lately, that is true of a lot more rooms). He has a lot of faith in his own intellect, and ability to talk his way out of many situations. But in front of Ed, more particularly when Ed looks at him, he's far more aware of each flaw, feels them prickle on his skin. Words feel too heavy, too unwieldy in his mouth. What the hell is he doing? More to the point, what the hell is Edward doing with him?

Ed sitting on the edge of his bed dispels most of these thoughts when he walks back into the bedroom. He’s almost boyishyly handsome, in washed-out striped pyjamas, hair brushed loose, glasses folded on the nightstand. He smiles warmly ‘Shall we?’

The sheets are sold, crisp, rustling as they both settle themselves. There’s a heavy, blanketed silence for a few moments after Oswald flicks the lights off. 

Ed is a few inches away, curled on his side facing him on the wide mattress, but in the sudden darkness, he can’t make him out.

‘I trust you’ll sleep well, with me here. Of course, I don’t mean to suggest- I mean, you must have shared a bed at some point?’ He’s suddenly grateful for the dark because his face flares hot with embarrassment at his clumsy attempts at making Ed comfortable.

‘I usually sleep alone.’ Ed answers calmly. ‘There was, of course, Miss Kringle. But, well..’ Ed doesn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence.

‘I’m sorry.’ Oswald hopes he sounds sincere. In a way, he is. He reaches blindly across, finding Ed’s hand curled beneath the blankets in the dark and gently squeezing his fingers.

‘Thank you.’ After a few moments Ed speaks again ‘What about you?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’ve uh..shared a bed before?’

‘Oh, no!’ A nervous giggle slips into his voice ‘I suppose I never really found the right person, even if the gutter press would have you believe otherwise. Well, I never found the right person until now.’

He means it as a joke, including a sweeping hand motion at the two of them, friends, in Oswald’s bed. The silence seems suddenly suffocating. This is how it ends, although he can still probably excuse this away, go and sleep downstairs, get away-

‘Interesting..’ There’s a smile, a frisson of mischief in Ed’s voice. ‘And now you’ve found the right person?’

‘I think I might have..’ His voice is lower, matching Ed’s, praying to whomever might be listening they are both playing the same game.

And that’s when there isn’t any more doubt, praying, thinking, because Ed’s hand is on his waist, and his breath is minty against his cheek, and Oswald's heart beats hard in his neck.

‘I think I may have too..’ Ed murmurs against his mouth,

Oswald only responds with a low hum, closing the gap between them and kissing Ed, a hesitant brush of their mouths together, a soft peck, then another, Ed gathering him close as Oswald reaches for him. Everything simplifies. He doesn’t need anything apart from warm arms, bellies pressed close and the low, appreciative noise when his fingers find the back of Ed’s neck as they curl around each other.

Oswald’s lips part at the first cautious flick of Ed's tongue over his bottom lip, hesitantly meeting it with the tip of his own, licking, stroking, until Ed tips him decisively onto his back, straddling his uninjured leg and covering his body with his own. Oswald can't even bring himself to be ashamed of the low and helpless noise he makes against Ed's mouth, whole body arching, greedy hands grasping the fabric of his pyjamas, he wants too much to stop and explain ‘Come here, please, more’

A wide palm cradles the back of his head, sinking them into piles of carefully arranged pillows together, pressing their foreheads, then their mouths together again as Oswald's hands fumble for grip, for more warm, bare skin. Pulling at the hem of his top, they settle on his slim hips, clutching at the small of his back, pleading without speaking.

Ed impatiently shifts fabric and pillows, groaning low in his chest and sucking roughly at Oswald's lower lip, landing them both in a half-nest of pillows as Oswald's arm twines around his neck, pulling him closer. Don't go, come here...

The realisation that he's drawn these noises from Ed, with his hands, his body on him, well. That alone makes his head swim. The press of Ed on him, the long line of his body, heaving ribs, nudging, careful mouth and impossibly long legs, that stops him thinking much beyond this bed, this hollow of blankets and low, breathy sounds that becomes their space in the universe.

Ed has nuzzled into Oswald's neck now, the nudge of his nose followed by an experimental press of his lips to his slim neck.

Oswald feels that kiss in his ears, in his shoulders, and somewhere deep and secret in his belly, the first electric crackle of arousal through every nerve fibre in him. The sloppy, wet press of Ed’s tongue, licking a warm stripe up the column of his throat, draws a too-loud moan, letting his head drop back against the pillows 'Please’

He thinks he hears Ed murmur 'With pleasure..’, but his lips are on his collarbone, kissing and sucking, wetter and messier and better than they have any right to be, and he entirely misses the 'Can I?’ as Ed thumbs at the buttons of his pyjamas.

Until Ed is staring down at him, a little more cautious but still breathing hard, all mussed hair and kiss-bitten lips. 

Oswald’s heart forgets to beat a moment.

'Would you mind if I took this off?’ 

His voice is a little lower, wide, careful hand pressed to the centre of Oswald's chest.

'Oh... Yes. Please.’

Hardly his usual carefully enunciated tones. But Ed either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He pops the buttons impatiently, kissing greedily over each new inch of exposed skin, over the narrow, pale plateau of his breastbone and down, to the gentle give just below his ribcage.

His hand pushes the offending material from his shoulder, only offending because it's currently separating him from Oswald's bare skin. Careful fingers and smooth thumbs cup his shoulder joint, tracing over the shiny pink of a long-forgotten scar, cataloguing, delicate. Then down, thumbing over the fluttering pulse that hides itself in the hollow of his collar bones, under the sharp rise and fall of his ribs, rough over the sensitive flesh of a nipple. His hands and mouth pause at Oswald's answering pleas.

'D-Dont. Don't stop. Please...Whatever you want.’ It sounds so desperate from his own mouth, the consonants heavy on his tongue, clumsy and not quite real.

And then Ed’s lips are on his belly, reverent, not focussing on the peppering of bruises and old scars, but mouthing over the slight roundness of his abdomen.

Oswald always been a little prone to putting on weight, sweets are a bad habit, scarce in his childhood and now all too available, and whilst he's far from chubby, he's soft here. 

Ed traces lines on him with the point of his nose, hot breath on skin, the drag of his lower lip over his hipbone. He finds the softest points, either side of his navel, which contract and shudder at his touch, and brands them with kisses.

Further hot embarrassment creeps up Oswald's spine and into his cheeks when he realises his erection is pressed firmly against Ed's chest. Surely he must be able to tell? His heart pounds, breath hitching at the giddy, hazy, good of Ed's mouth on him and the worry that any moment now, he'll stop, move away.

But then Ed's fingers are cool through the fabric of his pyjama pants, stroking the inside of his thigh, and up, palm cupping his balls land a careful fingertip just behind. Hot breath, damp through the fabric, gives way to the first press of his tongue, suckling shamelessly at the head of his cock and the fabric over it, already damp with arousal.

The sensation sparks behind Oswald’s eyes, heavy in the top of his lungs when he whines in pleasure, whole body arching, taut. He probably agrees, can't think much beyond ohpleasegodyes, because Ed's fingers are on his hips, pulling his waistband down around his thighs as he settles his torso between his knees. He's never been so grateful to be pinned down, waistband around the tops of his thighs, top unbuttoned and tight around the tops of his arms, far more debauched than if he were naked.

And Ed's mouth is on him again, the lazy curl of his tongue lapping at the head of his cock. He can't quite find words for how good that feels, mouth a wide, silent 'Oh’ as his back arches. His fingers scrabble for purchase in Ed's hair as the syrupy heat deep in his belly coils tighter, sparks, flares up through him.

He doesn't look, he can't. Because seeing Ed like that, that wide mouth gentle and slick around his cock, those earnest brown eyes staring up at him, that will end matters embarrassingly quickly. 

But he can feel the damp heat of him, mouthing over the head of his cock, lips slipping down the length, and hear the obscene, wet noises he makes. The roll of Eds tongue, curling around the underside of him, is nearly too much. 

Oswald’s toes curl tight somewhere under Ed's knees. Feeling slick skin suddenly cool, then enveloped in the heat of his lips and tongue again only the delicious building tension in him, the feeling that his heart will burst through his ribs.

He tries to speak, make excuses, how it's too much, that he won't last, but eventually, regretfully, pushes Ed's head away. 'Please…’

Ed glances up, puzzled, eyes narrowing and trying to make out Oswald's features in the low light 'Was that alright? Did I do something wrong?’

'No, no, my darling…’ He remembers how to breathe again, reaching for Ed and gathering him close, pushing his hair from his eyes ''Not that, nothing wrong. Quite the opposite. It was too much. Too good.’ 

Ed still looks puzzled a moment, but shrugs it off to sink against him, smiling as their noses nudge together, then kissing him gently.

Oswald can taste himself, the slight bitter salt on Ed's lips is an illicit thrill. He feels bolder, hands reaching for Ed's pyjamas and fumbling over the buttons as he kisses him, heatedly. He groans, low and wanting as Ed licks into his mouth.

Buttons undone, Oswald slips his hand between them, breaking the kiss to murmur close to his ear 'Can I touch you?’. His fingers stroke, delicate, over the fine scatter of hair just below Ed's navel.

'Please..’ His voice is thick, heavy with want as he kisses him again, lifting himself into all fours before thinking better of it, and tipping them both into their sides, fingers curled carefully around the twisted, badly-healed joint of Oswald's right knee.

His nose presses close, into the hollow of Ed's neck, peppering kisses and lipping at the overheated skin, seeming to mumble more to himself than to Ed 'Let me, please, just here..’. He pushes the waistband of his pyjamas aside without thought, bolder now he's cocooned, eyes shut tight against Ed's heaving chest.

His fingers are cool, wrapping tight around the base of his cock and stroking, fingers and movements loose until Ed moves his own hand between them, fingers tight over Oswald and shows him. Tighter, slower, twisting just a fraction, until his mouth slackens, until he's breathing hard and ragged into Oswald's hair.

'Like this?’

'P-please…’

Ed reaches for him then, that newly-familiar smell of lavender and mint, soap and toothpaste and sweat, heavy in his nose as he pulls him closer, reaching down between his legs to stroke up over his balls, and wrap his hand around his cock.

He echoes 'Like this?’

'Messy…If I-’

'Do you care?’

'Not especially’ Oswald gasps against his shoulder 'In fact..’

Ed catches the slight hesitation there, whole paragraphs Oswald doesn't quite dare say, a half-smile tugging one corner of his mouth as he realises.

'You’d prefer me to make you come like this? In your clothes?’

'Fuck, Ed…’

Ed almost laughs then, a giddy huff of breath.He feels his own arousal pooling, thickening, twisting in his guts, the erratic movement of Oswald's hand settling into a steady rhythm that makes him want to sob, he's so painfully close.

But something about the sound of Oswald's voice just then won't let him rest, he can't resist teasing him just a little more.

'So, do you do this when you're alone? Touch yourself?’

'N-n-oh!.’ he begins, hips arching at a slight squeeze of Ed's fingers 'Alright...sometimes…’

'In the shower?’ Ed's tone stays far calmer than he feels, the hot prickle of arousal humming at the base of his spine and threatening to overwhelm him

'Bath, but yes, I-’ Oswald whimpers, cheek burning hot against Ed's shoulder.

'I see…’ Ed croons, pumping Oswald's cock harder, feeling his toes curl tight against his ankle.

'I was thinking of you..’ Oswald gasps, unbidden 

'Were we doing this?’ He coaxes gently

'Christ...sometimes. Other times we were...oh..’ his whole body slackens in pleasure, he nuzzles closer into Ed's neck 'We were fucking. You were on top of me, covering me, biting my neck..’ he murmurs, voice faint against his skin, husky and low 'And...oh Ed, you made me feel so filthy. So loved and full and so damn good.’

Ed can't speak to promise anything, but scoops him close to kiss him, lovingly, feverish pecks between breaths, like he's frightened what might happen if he stops. Like he might dissolve, like a dream, and Ed will wake up alone again.

'Please, please, Oh Ed..’  
Oswald interrupts this chain of thought, the kissing, with a low plea against Ed's lips, hips arching as he comes, spilling over their fingers and his own belly, huffing Ed's name into his shoulder.

Ed let's go, reluctantly, hand trailing up over Oswald's belly and chest.

'Good?’ 

'Mmmm’ Oswald hums, bringing his fingers, still slick with come, up to Ed’s lips, a sly smile as he looks Ed in the eye again and presses them into his mouth. His other hand stays, working Ed's cock, thumb swiping precome down over the length.

'I...I…’ The words won't come, he's so dizzyingly close, precariously balanced, when all he wants to do is fall.

Oswalds fingers hook inside his lower lip, pressing over his teeth and tongue, until he's kissing, sucking, greedily at them.

It's too much. The daring, the sheer obscenity of the action and the sure, smug look on Oswald's face as he does it and the bitter salt on his tongue finishes him. He comes still suckling Oswald's fingers, whole body taut, hips arching. He thinks Oswald speaks, hushing him, calling him sweetheart, as a loud, helpless groan bubbles past his lips.

Something shatters in him, all the heat in him flaring, white-hot, until he sinks against him, undone, shivering.

Oswald kisses the underside of his jaw, lightly, after a few moments of heaving ribs and steadily slowing pulses.

'How do you feel?’

He finally turns his head to look at Oswald again, stroke his sweat-damp fringe from his face, smiling, dazed, as his breathing slowly returns to normal 'Incredible, as it happens. Was that what you'd hoped for?’

'Better. So much better.’ He smiles, uncertainty seeming to melt from his face. 'Thank you for...all of it really. Not making fun of me.’

Ed looks at him seriously for a moment 'Oswald..I'm not sure what I'd make fun of. Sincerely. I've wanted that for so long.’ 

He presses one last, gentle kiss to his forehead.

‘We should probably clean up..’ 

'In a moment.’ Oswald agrees, pressing the length of his body against Ed's, kissing his cheek.

'There’s lots of time…’


End file.
